


Violet & Crimson

by jadedragonfly



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Magical Realism, Prinxiety - Freeform, queerplatonic logicality - Freeform, sanders academy or whatever, this is completed btw, unfamiliar with how to tag on ao3, y'all idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedragonfly/pseuds/jadedragonfly
Summary: In which Virgil and Roman are in love with each other, but don't know it's reciprocated.~"We should go to the ocean."~Oh, and Virgil's hops plants aren't doing so well.~"I wish."~And...well, there's quite a bit going on, actually.~"But...what if we did?"~The four of them find peace anyway.~"Okay."~





	Violet & Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> -deceit's name is deimos because "In Greek mythology, Deimos is the son of Ares and Aphrodite and the brother of Phobos. While his brother is the personification of fear and panic, Deimos is the personification of dread and terror." which is really quite dramatic but I promise he's not that terrible in the story (not sympathetic tho)  
> -erin is non binary and I couldn't find a set term for a non binary parent but one thing I've seen is the term "ren" so I used that  
> -i'm not sure if the whole universe is magic or if it's really just virgil's family (probs the latter) but yeah it's...there  
> -warnings: cursing, a panic attack (which v is "snapped out of" with magic, btw, if that wasn't clear, bully-ish deceit, the ocean  
> -comments are much welcome (like, not overly negative??)

Roman Chandler flung himself onto a bed. “I didn’t know you were so into Spider-man,” he said, referring to his best friend’s bed comforter.

Virgil Hansen, who would probably kill Roman if he knew he had been called his best friend(which had actually happened numerous times behind Virgil’s back), blushed. “That’s not the point.”

“If Spider-man isn’t the most important thing, then what is?” laughed Roman.

“I don’t know! I didn’t even invite you over, if you’ll recall.”

“Oh yeah…”

“Roman,” sighed the emo, “just get to the point. The actual point.”

Roman hopped up and twirled around the room in a way one could almost describe as ditsy. “But we need the whole gang here!” He grabbed Virgil’s phone, unlocked it(“How the fuck do you know my passcode?” “It’s literally the date MCR broke up, anyone could have guessed that”), and called Logan Jefferson, who answered the phone with a “Might I inquire as to what the fuck you want on this particular occasion?”

Roman threw a pillow at Virgil’s face, startling him, and ran out of the room. Virgil could hear him whispering dramatically in the hall and groaned. Five minutes later a car pulled up and, instead of going through the door like any normal sane human, two boys climbed through the third story window, one giggling like mad, the other balancing a large book on his head that he promptly tossed at Roman. The book-balancing was a skill the latter boy had apparently practiced over and over when younger “because I harbored delusions of being a princess.” Virgil wondered, for not the first time, why these crazy people were his friends.

Then he remembered he was an anxious gay with a Spiderman bed comforter and a tendency to play piano at three a.m. when he couldn’t sleep because he had been thinking about how he was thinking about thinking about thinking, and he gave Logan and Patton hugs and jumped downstairs to make them all tea.

 

Logan peered out Virgil’s window. “Your hops aren’t doing so well. Have you been watering them enough?”

“It’s raining right now, and you’ve been climbing up and down them all month, smartass.”

Logan smirked and adjusted his glasses. “So what is your plan, Roman?”

“Well, Virgil doesn’t exactly know what this is about yet, but--”

“Wait, why?” Patton interjected.

“Because I’m overdramatic. Next question.”

Virgil kicked him and he collapsed (overdramatically) onto the bed.

Everyone else flopped down beside him and there they lay, enjoying each other’s company for the moment, watching a dark spot making its way across the cracked white ceiling before it sunk in for Patton that it was, in fact, a spider and not a mobile raisin and they all relocated downstairs in the kitchen.

“Who mistakes a spider for a _raisin_ ,” Roman inquired, but Patton just shook his head.

“Anyway, so Virgil, I was thinking we could help you ask out that guy you liked!” the theatre nerd continued with a flourish.

“Oh god,” said Virgil. “Oh god oh no I don’t think so--”

“You don’t have to tell us who it is, kiddo,” said Patton gently, but then he exchanged a glance with Logan and Virgil got the deep feeling they knew exactly who it was and were secretly laughing at the whole situation.

And were apparently planning on taking absolutely no action to stop it, as Roman wheeled out the large whiteboard that was slid next to the fridge. He pulled out a dry erase marker from his own purse, having grown used to the fact that in Virgil’s house things such as those tended to quickly go missing, which was also why Virgil bought new art supplies every other week and had stopped being surprised at pencils occasionally falling out of the aforementioned crack in the ceiling.

“Okay,” said Roman, twirling the marker around. “Here’s what I have so far.” He turned and started to sketch out what appeared to be an elaborate diagram. “And yes, it’s violet-ish, no need to thank me, I knew it was your favorite color.”

“He picked up that marker from the sidewalk yesterday when we were walking home from school,” Patton whispered into Virgil’s ear, “don’t be fooled by his devilish ploys.”

Roman frowned at them. “Is he trying to feed you lies, Virgil?”

The sweatshirt-clad teen raised an eyebrow. “Mhmm. Now what the heck is--” he gave a gesture at the board-- “that?”

“A detailed and allegorical map of--”

“Allegory for what, exactly?” asked Logan mildly, and Roman shrugged and continued-- “of the different ways you might go about asking this theoretical guy out--”

“And how do you know it’s a guy?” interjected Virgil, a bit miffed.

“Because, my dear Virgil, you are an anxious gay and we all know it. Now--”

“So do you have cookies around here though?” Patton had hooked a foot between the counter and a drawer and was hoisting himself up.

“Oh look, Patton, it’s a raisin,” said Logan, and Patton looked around in either excitement or fear-- no one could quite tell whether he believed it was actually a raisin this time or not and therefore which emotion was causing him to topple off the counter.

Roman gave a great big sigh, flinging down the marker, and Virgil wondered, not for the second time, why these crazy people were his friends.

 

Everyone had scattered when Virgil’s mom came in the door, and now he was sitting in the attic, thinking about school tomorrow.

He sort of had a theory that the attic was where all the missing things in the house went, actually, because if you were at just the right angle under his bedroom ceiling the crack suddenly looked a lot larger and closer and you could smell that exact same musty floorboard smell, with that scent that wasn't quite place-able and that hint of a salty sea breeze, and this meant the attic must be above his room, so the pencils that came down in the night must be from there. This could perhaps be countered by the fact that the attic was part of the third story, not above it, but Virgil had learned to not take such facts into consideration.

He doodled on his hand, coloring in tiny flower petals with his sharpie, the one art tool he never let out of his sight, before scribbling over everything with a sigh. Back to Sanders Academy, school of the arts, oh and a couple crappy science programs. High school masquerading as fancy. Back to seeing his friends every day. Back to seeing, like, people and stuff every day. The former was different because he was actually comfortable around them. Other people not so much.

He slid down the ladder to the light mint-green carpet and padded to his room, checking his phone.

_forgot to tell you but I saw Love, Simon yesterdayyyyy_

_It was a book first_ , he typed in response to Patton, seeing Logan’s reply as soon as he hit send-- they had sent practically the same thing. His lips curled up, even more so at Patton’s next text--

_I read the book, you heathens_

Virgil wondered briefly where Roman was that he wasn’t responding...probably at dinner.

Oh, dinner. He should eat that. Hadn’t his mom called him down five minutes ago? Maybe. Downstairs the smell of eggs wafted up and he skidded over tile to give his mother a hug. “Hi, Vanessa,” he mumbled into her, and she chuckled.

“School tomorrow.”

“Water’s leaking from the window again,” he noticed, and she swiveled, giving a hum.

“Erin will be home soon,” she whispered as the plates were set on the table, and he nodded.

That was his house. A collection of statements in the air. A collection of markers who knows where. A collection of love and things being off-balance and mostly love and mugs of tea and above all love swirling about. It was his house. He didn’t want to go to school.

 

“I love your house, by the way,” commented Logan, sitting down at the school lunch table the next day.

“I know,” Virgil grumbled.

“The count of people who asked if we’re dating is two already,” noted Patton, plopping down on his other side. Logan smoothed his space dress.

“Are you keeping a long-term tally, or is it refreshed each year?” Roman was here now too, looking gorgeous as always.

“Both.”

Logan and Patton were in a queerplatonic relationship, which included lots of giving each other random flowers that apparently meant things, bonking their foreheads together like cats, and other such Logan-and-Patton-y things, but did not include romantic attraction. It was adorable and also resulted in people having general misconceptions, but people tend to have general misconceptions about all sorts of things no matter what so there’s really nothing to do about that.

“Also, a teacher was rather rude when I tried to discuss with her the exceptions to certain math rules, but that was anticipated.”

The rest of the table gave a collective sigh and Logan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I did not realize you were expecting any different of me this year.”

“I bet it was first period, too,” said Patton, poking him in the side.

“Yes, what about it.” There was a laugh hiding in Logan’s voice. Patton shrugged, smiling, and reached up to a butterfly that was some feet away. The outdoor lunch area really was nice, mostly, in Virgil’s opinion, because of the sun that was coming down today. He actually preferred cool temperatures and low light but everyone seemed to smile more when the sun was out. Maybe that was just a trick of the summer.

As Roman was reaching down a hand to help up Pat, who had bent backwards over the bench, giggling, to the butterfly flitting away, Deimos slammed down his tray on their table. “Are you two dating?” he asked, seemingly of Patton and Logan, in what really could only be described as a rude voice. Deimos was not a stereotypical school bully, and in a movie the camera would not have dramatically zoomed in on him with the opening chords of Phantom of the Opera playing in the background, but he was brash and also had a habit of not telling the complete truth. Virgil had noted in the past this wasn’t the best combo.

“It’s up to three now,” Roman ventured, making Patton laugh. The streaks of sun flashed in Deimos’s hair as he turned, looking at them all weirdly before walking away. Virgil smiled down at the table. He hadn’t felt too tortured so far, by classes or anything, and nodded when Patton voiced a “I think school’s been pretty good so far.”

Logan and Roman both agreed, but Roman gave his yeah with a slight shrug and Logan would probably have a different opinion after his art class in the afternoon, which he only took to fill up his schedule. Logan was here for the astronomy program.

Patton was here because Patton liked to get emotions into paintings and the like. He had a lot of emotions, which his friends had gathered through the fact that he had a lot of paintings and sent a lot of frustrated abstract texts during the night.

Roman was here for theater, as Virgil had learned, and (this had all been spilled in a three a.m. chat that had dragged him away from his piano and his meta-thinking) also had been hoping to find new makeup ideas; sadly, according to Roman, he had not yet found many people who wore makeup as an art form versus a way to look more “beautiful.” _But art should be beautiful,_ Roman had said, and it touched something in Virgil, who was here because art. He liked Roman’s idea of beautiful. He wondered if Roman considered himself beautiful, because Virgil did. But Virgil also occasionally thought his own art was beautiful and then Deimos laughed and made weird comments about it and he wasn’t really sure what that said about things or what things it said about.

He shook his mind away from Roman and started thinking about what dinner might be, because, you know, dinner and his mom and his ren and doing homework in his room and flopping upside down sounded pretty good right now. It sounded normal. The anxious emo was still adjusting to the normal of school in contrast to the normal of summer-- it was the first day, after all. But normal was good either way. He sort of didn’t like change.  
(What he did like was Roman.)

( _Oh, good lord, stop thinking about Roman._ )

 

“Love ya, bunches,” Vanessa called up after Virgil as he went to his room. Roman had been texting him all afternoon after school got out and he figured he might as well let his friends come over, if only to stop the waterfall of messages. They had a rule in his house, a sort of unspoken one-- Vanessa would assume any friends over meant they were during homework together if it was a school day, until 11, when she would kick them out. It was sort of a turning-a-blind-eye thing but also Virgil was actually responsible, he would do his homework even if his friends were there and bothering him, and she figured she could give him some grace.  
Roman and Patton used the door this time. Logan slid in through the window with another book.

“Why do you keep bringing books here and leaving them?” Virgil asked, a bit suspiciously. He had been harboring the concept of Logan secretly being a Slytherin for some time now. Logan raised an eyebrow like the secret Slytherin he probably was. “I enjoy partaking in a good book no matter where I am, Virgil. You know this.” Okay, a pretty Ravenclaw answer, but he wasn’t going to throw the idea out the window quite yet.  
What he was going to throw out the window was Roman, who sauntered into his room just then singing Mulan at the top of his lungs.

 

Roman had first seen Virgil when they were eight, when he had lived at the coast with his dad before moving a bit less than two hours inland, some over three years later. His instant thought was, _It’s the boy from my dreams_. The boy in question had glared (like he always did now too, come to think of it) from his perch in a tree, an odd lodgepole with its top twisted and deformed, upon seeing Roman (and it was always when he saw Roman. Gosh. Roman was offended). They had then gone their separate ways down the cliffside path and not seen each other for 3 years.

 

Virgil had first seen Roman when they were eleven. He thought. He had a glinting memory of a glimpse of a glance what would have been three years before on a vacation but then again he remembered having dreams of that memory since he was five. But anyway, as soon as they had seen each other the boy had given him an offended look for some reason (then again, Roman got offended pretty easily)...but then kept playing happily, untroubled (it made Virgil want to glare. If he had offended someone he should hope it at least bothered them for more than a second. Unless he had actually messed up in which case he would apologize. Otherwise glaring sounded pretty good). They had then gone their separate ways in the park and not properly met for another year.

 

Logan and Patton were fourteen when they met. A year was all they needed, really, to keep running into each other, by chance but also on purpose. They became friends. Their souls were close. It was nice like that.

 

When Virgil and Roman were fourteen, they were stomping around offending each other and glaring. A year was all they needed to realize the stomping and glaring was together on purpose and they should probably, like, call themselves friends or something.

 

No one except Vanessa was really sure how Logan and Patton and Virgil and Roman became friends all four. That was okay, because right now they were all together and it wasn't a bad thing and that's the most important thing, really, when you find people-- that when you're with them, it's a good thing.

Virgil was reflecting on this as Roman and Patton danced around his room singing and Logan calmly read a book on his windowsill. A pillow skidded across the floor as Ro and Pat reached a crescendo and he abruptly decided to stop reflecting.

“Can we have order,” drawled the tired art student, and everyone looked over.

Virgil stood. “Why is it we never actually accomplish anything?”

“Because we are a bunch of sleep deprived gays?”

“Not what I was looking for, though you aren't incorrect.” Virgil started to pace. He felt a Logan vibe filling him up and smiled slightly lopsidedly at the nerd. “Drama queen, you've been talking about some plan for days. The whiteboard is still in the kitchen with its mysterious drawings. And yet I still dont know what's happening. Am I still expected to resign myself to it or what?”

“Yes, you can keep that on your schedule,” said Roman with an eye roll. “That's why I was singing Mulan,” he explained, “so that we could get down to business.”  
“To defeat the huns!” added Patton.

Virgil sighed. He shouldn't have said anything. How was he going to survive this? Maybe Vanessa would let him have a glass of whiskey, or at the least bleach.

Somehow they all got themselves back to the kitchen, whereupon Erin was fixing a glass of lemonade and trying to tape the window leak and would of course say no to whiskey, bleach, or any other possible brain-damaging substance. They watched, slightly bemused, as the board was wheeled out once more. “‘Scuse me, Virgil's parental unit.” Roman, who had no regard for simply calling a person anything but their relation to his friends (see: “Hi, Patton's distant cousin!” “Greetings, stepfather of Logan.” “Nice to see you again, Virgil's slightly mean painting teacher”), scooted past them. “Now step 1 is identifying the guy. I'm assuming you have a guy identified.”

“...No hiding bodies around here,” was Erin's farewell as they slipped out of the kitchen.

“Yuh huh,” came the affirmative from Virgil, who was actually a bit interested to see what the heck Roman had come up with.

“Okay, next you take this quiz to see how romantic you are. Based on your point score we will proceed to whatever the next step is.” Virgil reluctantly took Roman's old ipad from him and stared down at a playbuzz page. “I don’t understand.”

“Hm, what?” Roman was getting distracted already. Where Virgil was the anxiety gay of the group, Roman was the ADHD gay. He was back to coloring in his nails with sharpie (violet, so they knew he had probably found it lying around somewhere...everything artsy Roman found was, for some reason, that purple hue) and likely daydreaming about his current OTP.

“There are twenty questions? Can't I just like rate myself on a scale of one to ten?”

Roman snapped back in. “Oh, sure, I guess,” he frowned.

“Okay, so, negative..2.”

Roman snatched the whiteboard from where Logan was examining it. “This does not make much sense, Roman..how much time did you spend on this again? It appears to be a bit disorganized.”

“I was up for a few hours doing it, yeah. And I can read it so it's fine. Also, negative 2 is not a proper answer, dummy, I just can't work with that.”

Virgil voiced a 1 this time, causing Roman to remind him zero was an option, leading to Virgil explaining the person he liked was romantic themself and he wanted to appreciate that and then inwardly cursing the way he spilled things when he got nervous, Roman questioning just who it was, Virgil quickly deflecting, and Logan walking out of the kitchen in apparent exasperation. Patton sat on the counter watching the whole thing in amusement and Virgil sent a trademark glare his way, 500% tired with all this.

“Vi-i-i, come on,” sighed the melodramatist.

“Oh my gods, this is taking forever. Can't we watch a show or something?” tried ‘Vi.’

“So as I have here, if you're a one that cancels out a lot of good ideas, sadly, so you don’t get to write any love letters or even buy flowers. I think the best option would be to just go up to the person and say something akin to ‘Would you like to go out with me?’”

“Wait, what do zeros get to do? Can I switch? What if I want to hide under the covers until the sun goes away and not do anything at all?”

Roman peered at him. “Sorry, Charlie Frown, you're going to be confident for once, okay? I'll help you. And zeros are pretty similar anyway, you would just be telling the person you like them instead of actually asking them out. Twos do both.”

“You really thought this out, huh,” piped Patton.

“Well yeah,” Ro grinned. “I sort of got really into it.”

Virgil took a breath. He needed some time to think this over. This might not even be so bad, with his friends supporting him, and an actual plan he could follow, if the person he liked hadn't been Roman.

 

As everyone filed out of the first floor area, Vanessa grabbed the shoulder of Virgil's crush. “Do you mind if we talk?” Roman, who felt comfortable around Vanessa same as most people Virgil was okay with(she tended to radiate intimidation around people like Demos, on the other hand), gave a “sure” and they sat gently on the old couch by the doorway.

“You like him?” she asked. “Romantically?”

“Yes.” The normally energetic teen shifted.

“That's not all.” It wasn't phrased as a question but the words expected an answer and Roman gave one-- “Well, I've been dreaming about him since I was five.”  
Vanessa smiled. “Yeah? That's strong there.” Her tongue skipped over the word Roman knew none of them had ever, ever heard spoken aloud. (Words like this one-- words like magic-- carry weight even unspoken.)

“I want him to be happy,” he said confidently, and she understood why he was doing everything. But she could say nothing as her mind filled up with the reminder of her son telling her about a glinting memory of a glimpse of a glance, ten years ago in the light morning, as he described to her breathlessly his dreams.

 

“Deimos is, as one might say, a jerk.” Logan watched the scarred face walk past the group of touring middle schoolers as he talked to his 8th grader. The other chosen leaders nodded.

“Scars don't make you a jerk,” laughed someone in the crowd, and Logan pushed a smile. “I am aware. I have scars of my own."

“Yeah, it's being a goddamn bigot that makes you a jerk,” scoffed someone else, and pushed who was presumably the first person.

“Pushing people, as well. Now come on...you did hear me say come on, correct?” The last few words came out tense because Deimos, it could be observed, was heading for his friend's lunch table. Roman would freak out about that for sure, Roman was overprotective like that, Gryffindor Roman. What a great start to the day. But he had kids to take care of(annoying kids, yes, but perhaps he could direct them towards the right path and at least one or two would remember his words and keep themselves from smoking, drinking, and/or jumping off of cliff edges).

Logan wished confrontations like this could be diverted around his friends before they ever reached them, like the lava around that one guy's house.

Logan pulled himself back from what would inevitably become a long chain of random distracting thoughts and glanced behind him as Roman started screaming in Demos's face. _Well, that escalated quickly_ , he thought (and then got mad at himself for making such a joke) and kept walking, hating the world for hurting his friends but knowing they needed to take care of themselves.

 

“ _It doesn't matter if someone’s gay, it just means they know how to love more than_ you, _you_ \--”

Virgil pulled his friend back in alarm. Friend-soon-to-be-dead, that is. “Why do you care so much about me, Deimos? It's not reciprocated,” he tossed at the boy, walking away with Roman and starting to talk as soon as they were more than ten feet away-- “Why the fuck were you doing that? I--”

“Ow,” Roman barked, kicking away from him.

"--can take care of myself--"

“Are your nails fucking claws or something?”

“Actually, yes,” scoffed Virgil, blowing on his filed pointed nails.

Patton ran towards them from the table, shivering, and started to sign as he did when he was stressed and couldn't talk-- _s-t-o-p-m-a-y-b-e-t-a-l-k._

 _W-h-y-c-a-n-t-a-l-o-n-e,_ Virgil fingerspelled back, knowing he was not making sense but at the same time not too sure anyway of what he had been trying to convey.

“I'm sorry,” Roman said in a rush. “I just get scared for you because I know you get freaked out and--”

Virgil just blinked at him, feeling all sorts of twisting emotions rise up in his chest. “Thank you for actually apologizing,” he started, words feeling slow. “I..you actually..why do you have a right to..” Oh no, he was losing words now.

Patton (who was really quite smart when it came to his friendos) cautiously signed _p-h-o-n-e_ at him and some of the overwhelmedness faded away, and he pulled it out, knowing he could hand it to Roman when he was ready.

What ended up being read by Roman was: _Everyone can get “freaked out”. I can handle it though too-- or at least can decide that for myself. Your job is not protector, your job is friend (if you want it.)_

“And you failed,” he spat impatiently as Roman's eyes moved down the violet-cased phone. He walked away, hunched over, feeling the guilt around Patton and the anger at himself for that because that was what Roman had pushed around him too and the overall panic catch up in his throat until he started to cry but it didn't help and he couldn't stop and he just kept crying and panicking and crying and--

everything snapped back with a click of his mom's fingers, but it didn't feel quite right, and she lowered him onto his bed and his other parent kissed his head and they both walked away as he closed his eyes, feeling sick, and like he was dreaming.

 

The next day arrived when he woke up to Erin shaking him. “Ren, what--”

“You're going to be late for school,” they laughed, “I know, I'm sorry you even have to go. But I was attempting to make scones and didn't catch the time when it flew past so here we are, honey.”

Virgil hadn't been sure when he was younger why he always called his mom Vanessa and his ren Ren, and he wasn't sure now. He had the faint idea it was because the name Vanessa had been fun to say for his little self. Her name sort of summed her up, too.

Vanessa was dark purple velvet and vines coming down and loving smiles and mysterious. Erin was homey and a quieter presence but not and applesauce and safe. Virgil loved them both.

“Your mom snapped you out of an anxiety attack yesterday and drove you home,” they whispered. He leaned into their hug. “I don't like her doing that,” he breathed, feeling guilty; Erin said, “I know. I'll let her know.”

He hastily took the tea they handed him and sipped it, wincing at the aftertaste of something he couldn't quite place along with a hint of brine. Vanessa must have brewed it up for him. The following five minutes was spent rushed. And the following half hour was spent nervously waiting. And then everyone got to school and they all exchanged hugs but everything still felt all wrong in Virgil's head, like he had seriously messed up, and Roman with his stupid forgiveness and apologies didn't seem to understand this.

Patton and he sat on one of the counters in the art room, holding hands. “I feel like I said all the wrong things,” Virgil shuddered. “Like it just got out of my control.”

Patton, who was the autistic gay of their group to Virgil's anxiety, Roman's ADHD and Logan's depression, nodded in understanding as he stared at the ground. “Like it feels like the whole thing didn't come across the way you wanted it to?”

Virgil hummed in agreement. They both sat there and breathed in the smell of paint (probably not healthy..) and swung their legs and waited for the teacher to kick them out.

“We should go to the ocean,” Patton said.

Virgil laughed-- “I wish.”

“...What if we did?” Patton hopped off the counter. “What if everyone's parents said yes?”

“We can't miss school,” Virgil pointed out, “it's literally the second day. Also we're all fifteen so someone would have to drive us, staying places is expensive, and...yeah.”

They didn't talk any more about it until after school, when Pat sent him a text.

_What if it was a day trip?_

“Guys?” Virgil called down the stairs.

“Wha-at” echoed up to him and he smiled wryly, raising his voice again. “Don’t suppose you'd let me go to the ocean?”

 

"You know, some day my mom and ren are just going to get tired of seeing your faces so often and ban you all from coming over again."

"You said y'all!" Roman laughed.

"I _literally did not_!"

"Yes you did!"

Patton watched the patterns of sun and shadow on the wall flash around as a car drove by. He waited for his friends to stop arguing. Honestly, it had been a wearing-out sort of day. He wondered how Lo was doing, especially after dragging that 8th grader around to classes all day. No one was really sure why the school forced a tour in the first week or why the poor students had to actually be the ones to lead it. It had problems.

Like Logan, who right now was probably lying drained on his bed hating himself for not being productive, if Patton knew anything, and Patton knew a lot.

And like Virgil and Roman, who were in love but didn't know it. Patton squinted at them. The song Forest came into his head as his eyelashes flickered his perception of the light on the wall even more and he rolled onto his back, humming.

 _hey do you want to go to the ocean hey hey hey,_ he sent to Logan, enjoying the clack of his fingernails on the phone screen. He hoped his parents wouldn't make him cut them for a while. It was as satisfying as typing on a laptop, really. Patton tuned back in to Virgil playing with his ponytail and Roman smudging the window with breath to draw the deathly hallows symbol. It was nice here.

"I love your hair up like this," commented Virgil, who was started to braid it now, and Pat sat up so he could reach it better. "Thanks."

 _Of course_ , pinged Patton's phone, and he smiled. Looking over his shoulder, Virgil affirmed himself that Erin had actually been okay with "the plan, whatever it may be," and then started talking with Ro about it. The shadows and sun on the wall flicked around again. Nails clacked some more against the light blue phone. The curling tendrils of the hops plant outside the window formed a heart, at just the right angle. Cinnamon toast sent wafts of good scent up from downstairs. Somewhere a bit less than two hours away, waves crashed against a shore overlooked by windswept lodge pole pines. But here, three people sat on a bed together, a fourth on a bed a few miles away, all cautiously allowing life to move forward as it may.

It had been a wearing-out sort of day, but it was nice here.

 

Logan, meanwhile, was lying on his bed, feeling drained, but hating himself for not being productive. He had five assignments due tomorrow. _Five._ On the _third_ day of school. He just wanted his qpp to flop on him at this point, honestly. It was like having a weighted blanket that was hugging you, and also giggling and being a general ray of sunshine.

The so-far-straight-A-student lifted his head a couple inches to see new messages on his phone. He sat up with a groan to type a reply, crossing his legs and dragging his school bag over while he was up for the sake of it.

He idly wondered if Virgil and Roman were still being oblivious. Likely. Maybe he and Pat should start a youtube channel-- this could be their first upload. If they started silently recording there would probably be plenty of footage of those two absolutely failing at life...as usual. Hah. He supposed this was a bit hypocritical...the geometric fractals on his black-and-dark-blue backpack, same as his phone case, seemed to be cutting into his mind now.

 

Somewhere a bit less than two hours away and a bit over two days later, four people had left behind school, quite a few worries, some parents and whatnot, and a light blue phone (whoops). But all they really needed, deep down, even if they hadn't realized how much, was here, with waves crashing against a shore that was overlooked by a few, windswept trees.

Also, rocks with some "snazzy barnacles!"

"Virgil, you are way too excited about barnacle-covered rocks," muttered a "stupid barnacle hater" from where he was standing a couple feet away in ankle-deep tide, squinting into the wind and trying to keep his crimson blanket from dragging into the water. A plus of no parents was that you could bring blankets with you all sorts of places without upsetting your frankly unreasonable dad who considered coats, of all things, to be superior to the fuzzy coziness of a polar-fleece-- or at least in Roman's case. A minus, which he would never admit but the others would (while laughing) gladly and annoyingly admit for him, was that you ended up with a sopping wet blanket when you inevitably dropped it into the ocean because you are naught but a useless gay.

"They're just, you know, doin' their thing." Virgil smiled down at the tiny white crustaceans. "So rad."

"Like jellyfish," Patton volunteered.

"Not when they bite you with their little stinging tentacles--"

"My god, Roman, what is up with you today?"

"Sorry," Roman laughed, "I swear I love being here." He shifted up onto the rock next to Virgil, crossing his legs to try and get himself to stop shivering. ("It is cold, though." "What did you expect?" "Good point." "The rain is wonderful, though." "Mhmmm.")

The ocean drew back, crashed down, drew back, crashed down. Foam swept through stray kelp on the wet sand. Draw back. Shells tumbled over each other in the hissing water. Crash down. Logan gave a rare laugh as wind whipped the spray into his face.

"I still can't believe we were all allowed to go."

Vanessa had vouched for them all, knowing the powers of the ocean would do them good. Logan's mother had driven them out that weekend and now here they were, for the night, as a matter of fact; it was all better than they had hoped for. The Oregon coast couldn't exactly be described as lovely, but the word was pretty close to what the friends were feeling right now.

"That is a good way to lose a child," quipped Virgil, as a mother urged her young kid to clamber out on more dark gray rocks that jutted into the waves, down the beach. They watched for a few seconds as the child leaned down with rocky balance to grab what looked like a shell fragment from a little dip on the rock.

"The ocean isn't a bad way to be lost," Logan uttered. The wind dissolved his words with the spray as he felt his friends take his hands. He pulled one free and placed his fingertips on the top of their rock, feeling its roughness and the salty water over his feet, the scratchy sand scattered on his skin to pull him back to life.

They started back along the beach, rickety wooden stairs up the small cliff coming closer in view. Roman had his blanket like a mix between a cloak and a scarf around him, a true prima donna prince, honestly. Virgil watched the boy walk along the sand.

 _Sometimes I feel like I don't fully know you_ , Virgil wanted to say, a few steps farther back. _Sometimes you don't even seem real_. The bushes along the coast caught green in the landscape, their leaves, the smaller plants beside them...catching the artistic teen's eye. He wanted to capture this moment and break it all at once. If you asked him to explain why, he would even almost be able to.

 

Roman sat on the roof of the cabin Logan's mother had rented for them. She and the others were inside, probably cooking up mussels or something. They had gone looking for the creatures a bit after six that night, the low tide leaving plenty of bare rock for them to scramble over and use screwdrivers to lever up shells.

Stars gave way to clouds that looked like they were from paintings. _What size brush would you employ to build those sweeps of fluff? What might you use to dot those tiny points of light? But how could you capture the chill in the night air? The steady rhythm of the ocean and a heartbeat?_ He shivered the swirl of thoughts away and looked into the emptiness of the dark.

 _I don't know_ , the dark couldn't help but whisper back, _but it would be violet. Always violet._

It was sort of like a movie, how Virgil climbed up to join him just then, hauling himself through the branches of the deformed lodgepole tree nearby and touching down on the shingled roof a second later, plopping besides Roman and staring up at the sky.

"Tonight really is a piece of art, isn't it?" he whispered, and Roman didn't nod but settled his head on his friend's shoulder.

"You need to eat more," noted Virgil, poking his side, which sort of ruined the moment but then again art is just a glimpse of a moment anyway and ruin is a part of life (a part deep down where your skin won't grow back over).

"Mussels? No thank you," dramatically declared the boy sitting on a cabin roof looking out at the sky and wondering if he was made of ruin, or if he was made of art, or if it was the same thing.

Wondering, if there was a way to draw in the rhythm of the ocean, and the rhythm of a heart, if there was a way to push that life into what is not alive, then what would you do when a second heartbeat joined it? When there were two boys sitting on a cabin roof looking out at the sky and hoping the world would still keep turning, the waves would still keep crashing, their hearts would still keep beating, but together?

"What if the world is made of art?" whispered the first. _What if we are naught but a painting?_

"But art is supposed to be beautiful," countered the second, "and the world certainly is not."

Roman remembered those words, remembered sending them to Virgil, and apparently Virgil had remembered them too, and cared for them enough and the untold story they held to speak them into the night, into tonight, arms wrapped around his knees and eyes half closed, eyes that flashed violet in the light of the giving-way stars.

  
  
For all the air there was in the world, Virgil thought, oxygen sure seemed hard to come by. The wind whipping past the open car window seemed to be stealing his breath and carrying it far away. He let it go. He let his soul go with it, back down the winding road and back toward the ocean and back to where for just one day, life had..well, it hadn’t made sense, per se, but for that one day, it had been okay that it didn’t.

Logan’s mom, Alissa, reached to turn on the radio, and some kind of alternative song came on that had a bit of a rock vibe. Something about hoping for love. Static creased the sound. His eyes were closed and he could almost feel his heart, beating, and he imagined it to be in tune with the rhythm of the ocean...  
  
Warm fingers reached to hold his hand across where the four were bundled next to each other in the backseat, and his spirit seemed to come rushing back and he let out his breath and the music sharpened suddenly through the speakers and the low voice sang, _and I found it_ , and as Virgil closed his eyes it seemed to echo through his mind as Roman’s lilting descant, just almost, just enough that he could believe it and that his soul sang along.  
  
And then there they were a bit less than two hours later, Roman having flung himself onto the Spider-man bed cover, Virgil fulfilling his daily prescription of Glaring-at-Roman, Logan reading next to the window, Patton twirling around the room; and then for some reason the other three started to join him in his dance. Virgil laughed as Logan dramatically dipped him. And Roman was spinning and whirling and pivoting in such a way that he would undoubtedly end up knocking something over, and Patton was doing some sort of interpretive thing that, knowing Patton, followed the trembling beat of the rain outside.

   (and the unsteady rhythm of rain swept their souls up as if flames burning bright, and the room seemed to glow with that fire.)

Things felt okay all of a sudden again, in all their lack-of-making-sense-ness. Things were okay. Because they were four friends dancing awkwardly around a small room and it was fabulous, even with worries of life knocking on the door.

And even through the worries and the rain, two people looked at each other, and their faces seemed to hold a glinting memory of a glimpse of a glance of the ocean and all the hope and song and unspoken magic that it brought.  
And it was all terribly cliche but, you know, whatever.  
  
  
Deimos was a desert, a dry, fatal desert that held nothing but hate and seemed to suck any hope of cleansing rain right out of the sky. Deimos was the antagonist to their story, the happily never after of a twisted fairy tale, the flames that caught a freed bird's wings as it tumbled out of the sky--

"Roman, what are you thinking about? You look like you're about to kill someone and if I'm being honest I'm tired of hiding bodies--"

"That snake stole my pencil. He's going to die. He's going to burn as if he were a tragic dove, he's going to--"

"A _pencil?_ "

"It's my _special pencil_ , and he _took it_ , and he's going to get a storm coming for him I swear, and all his sandstorms and poky cacti will be washed away--"

"What is he going on about--"

"An artist needs their pencil," sighed Virgil, and Logan, who (don't tell anyone) occasionally got inspiration for writing that he kept in a leather notebook, nodded. "Besides that I have no freaking idea."

Patton laughed. "Okay then. I guess I can understand that."

"This isn't _funny_ and--"

"Roman, you need to calm down." Virgil carefully placed his hands on the teen's shoulders. "Right now you're a sand tornado-whatever yourself. It's okay, deep breaths."

"Sandstorm, is what I said," Roman mumbled, but he surprised Virgil by hugging him, eyes squinched shut. "Thanks, Vi."

"I ship you guys," whispered Patton, and they both swiveled to glare at him.

Yep, school was going great so far, the day jumbling by in swaths of crappy attempts at art, even worse attempts at math and chemistry, and just general failings at life.

As soon as he got home, Roman flopped onto his bed with a groan. He wondered what dinner was going to be. Maybe a snack was a good idea. Or at least homework. He wiggled towards the edge of the bed and started to slowly slide off, because what else can you do when you don't feel like standing up but are quite bored? Fall off of things, of course.

He hit the ground and stayed there, keenly aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the dig of a random notebook against his back (there were many, scattered around, along with sketchpads and a whole other random assortment of crap that occupied his floor on any given day), the swirl of thoughts in his brain.

Roman knew that Virgil liked another guy. The emo had mentioned offhand one day that he liked someone and regretted the slip of tongue ever since.

 _So stop thinking about what Patton said!_ he chastised himself, lying on his back on the hard floor, his mind having dragged him away yet again from more acceptable things such as the assignment he really, really needed to get done today.  _And while you're at it, could you quit fucking blushing every time you think about him? Like really, just stop. You're so in love and you need to stop._

Which is why, of course, he picked up his phone and texted Virgil.

_Hi_

Virgil and Roman were the least close of their friend group. But it had always been so easy to talk to him (if you ignored all the sass).

Except then he sent _hi_ back and the lack of sass actually sort of set Roman on edge and then there was a so how are you and he looked at his phone, bemused, maybe a bit scared, because this whole conversation was scary, _life_ was scary, life was a sandstorm that swept you up and threw you with terrible force into this strange world with no rope to pull yourself out again.

Roman closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed a tumblr break. He couldn't even think about any of this right now. Time to scroll mindlessly through Harry Potter fanart and weird shitposts.

 **hey guys can we bring back the onceler cuz ngl i would NOT mind that bitch up my** \--

No more tumblr for today, he decided. Too weird. Back to real life.

Wait. He didn't want to face real life either.

But he went to text Virgil back anyway, because life was frustrating and his thoughts were overflowing and he had to get them out now now now.

 _in love_ , he typed slowly, _with you_ , was added on, but he didn't send it, because he needed to stop and he needed to talk and he needed to just not be here right now and then his phone said the message had sent and he couldn't breathe and he hadn't hit send and it had sent and it wasn't possible and please no--

but-- _Strange world,_ his brain reminded him. _Strange, strange world._

And he could hardly breathe for the terrible force of it.

  
  
Virgil kicked the stack of books on his floor, watching them flip and slide across the carpet and instantly regretting it-- Logan would be mad. But he _did_ have a reason, sort of.

Before he could have sworn they were just about mythology and astrophysics and the like, stuff Logan read because he was Logan and then forgot at Virgil's house because they were forgetful gays, but maybe he hadn't just forgotten them, and Virgil hated how, as he picked up one to grudgingly make sure the now-bent cover wasn't too bad, it smelled of something he couldn't quite place, hadn't ever been able to, but had a hint of salty sea breeze.

It could just be a coincidence. _Light of the Stars. Olympus to Camelot. Van Allen and Radiation. Extremal Combinatorics._ But he didn't want to think about how they had all been perfectly stacked up to make the word love. He didn't want to think about that scent that always meant something of magic had happened. He didn't want to think about Logan being a Slytherin and the sheer impossibility of Roman loving him back and-- and-- everything.

Which, of course, was why he picked up his phone to text Roman.

Who had already sent him a hi, and then he sent a hi back, and then his fingers got shaky as he asked his friend how he was, because that question sort of held a lot of weight, to Virgil anyway, because right now his head was a swirl of thoughts, thoughts about all sorts of things but mostly about Roman, and he couldn’t help hoping that Roman was the same; and he couldn’t help wincing at the sheer impossibility of this hope; and he couldn’t help twirling the pencil that he had stolen back from Demos at the end of fifth period, watching it flash around his fingers, feeling in control of it until it skittered out from his hand and hit the opposite wall at the same time his phone buzzed and then nothing felt in control any longer.

 

 _So I got a rope from the garage and it’s hanging out my window right now b_ _ecause I don’t want you killing my plants_

Roman was just a tiny bit in shock, and everything felt just a tiny bit out of control.

He dropped the crimson phone and wondered where his bike was.

And then, fifteen minutes late, regretting his lack of phone and water and any sort of articulable plan, really, he was standing outside his friend’s house, and there was a rope hanging against the wall from a window on the third story.

And Roman left that stupid freaking sandstorm behind him as he pulled himself up (why couldn’t he have just come through the front door? The climbing unit in gym had been so long ago, good lord...at least he got to pretend he was in Rapunzel), and inside the so familiar room the world was no less strange, but it was okay.

“Sorry, but I’m being dragged along for grocery shopping in five and figured my parents would have said no.” Virgil flicked something at him that hit his arm.

“Ow.”

“Sorry. Also you’re welcome.”

Roman leaned over and picked up the violet pencil from the floor-- “Oh, oh thank you, I-- thank you.”

Virgil smirked. “Mhm. So, um, anyway, were you lying? When you sent that?”

Roman stared at him. _He means the text? Of course I’m not lying. How could anyone not be in love with him?_

“How could anyone not be in love with you? You’re a-- a fucking storm, that just swirls through life like a tragically beautiful deity or some shit with your too-big hoodies that are all the same damn shade of violet and your rain that, like, makes plants grow because of how amazing you are--”

“Fucking kiss me already--”

"And your eyes are so blue-gray and so deep and so-- just-- everything, they’re like the damn ocean if you look at them too long, did you know that?" Roman tried to breathe, reaching out a tentative hand for Virgil, pulling him closer until they met, for what was perhaps the ten thousandth time-- unless you counted the dreams and the memories and everything in between-- but it felt like the first-- and the kiss was short and sweet and left on Virgil's lips a glinting memory of a glimpse of a glance of the taste of saltwater and happiness and unspoken magic-- but that wasn't right; for saltwater and magic are simply one and the same, and even if the very word of magic hangs, unspoken, in the air, you will still know it is there, for it carries a weight, and a rhythm, a rhythm of ocean waves and slowly steadying heartbeats.

 

The air had a scent that Virgil couldn't quite place, along with a hint of salty sea breeze. He held Roman's hand in his as they walked. Things were cold, and rainy, and okay.

Except, like, really _really_ cold. “I wish I had a blanket,” Roman mumbled. “This coat is so stupid.” Virgil rolled his eyes. (And held his hand tighter.)

Patton shivered as someone darted past them, spraying the four with puddle water (“bleck”), and Logan practically hissed as he held his not-really-waterproof book to his chest.

The four disaster gays eventually made it inside the school building with books intact, only one incident of what was decidedly not a raisin crawling onto Patton’s shoe, and warm thermos-held tea spilling just a little as Logan leaned over to whisper in Pat’s ear, “Would this not have been good youtube content?” motioning to the other two’s clasped hands.

Once fully inside, Patton skidded along the hallway and stuck out his tongue at a drenched Deimos before careening into a wall with giggles. His qpp sighed as he picked up binders that had fallen out of the school bag, but was smiling just a bit, too. “Dude,” Roman laughed, going to help but ending up plopped on the floor with crossed legs. Virgil wondered, for not the first time, why these crazy people were his friends.

But, you know, life was...normal. And they were still failing at it-- just, maybe, not as much. Also, reflected Roman, and Virgil, and the day around them, as they walked back down the sidewalk a bit more than seven hours later after school, it sort of wasn’t really too terribly cold, not when a crimson-gloved hand held a violet-gloved hand and two boys walked step by step, the world still turning, the rain still falling, their hearts still beating (but together).


End file.
